Archive of Our Own

There is a story often repeated among the addisons:

If you see a small black and white addison with multicolored glasses, do not trust him. His name is Spamton G Spamton, and he was once like us, but now his offers are all scams. He will swindle you without a second thought. If you catch him in a dark alleyway just keep walking and don't look back. Don't even talk to him. And under no circumstances should you ever take one of his deals.

Your addison boss, all his friends, and your co-workers have all warned you on separate occasions about this Spamton guy. You have never seen this mystery addison, and in fact, you've so rarely ever seen addisons in different colors than the usual that you doubt the guy even exists. It seems much more likely that all this whispering about Spamton G Spamton is just a bunch of fear mongering over some business boogeyman. How childish of these supposed professionals! You wouldn't say as such to their faces, of course, you're much too polite for that but it all strikes you as quite laughable really.

Until you finally see him.

You had just left one of the many fast food joints around the shopping district and taken your usual shortcut through the back alley on your way home when you spot a figure rummaging around in a trash can. Little white legs support the figure's body weight, braced against the steel trash can while their upper half remains obscured by the lid. Due to the color and the relative gloom of the alley compared to the bright lights out on the main streets, you mistake him for a tasque at first and think nothing of approaching.

As the lid is thrown to the ground with a sudden metallic bang and clatter, you jolt and stop in your tracks a few yards away from the trash can. What emerges is a tiny man, matching the exact description you've been given so many times before. Paper white skin, dark hair, and duo-tone glasses. There can be no mistaking it. Spamton G. Spamton is real.

You watch, transfixed, as he unhinges his ventriloquist dummy-esque jaw to consume a half eaten bagel.

God. You feel a twinge of sympathy. How could the rest of the Addisons be so cruel to someone so clearly down on his luck? What kind of sick joke was this??

"Um…" You're already speaking, before you can even think to stop yourself and his head swivels toward you, pink and yellow glasses aflash, bathing you in the floodlights of his gaze. "Mr. Spamton... isn't it?"

"THE ONE AND ONLY!!" Comes his reply, oddly boisterous despite the dumpster diving he clearly knows you just bore witness to. He doesn't even acknowledge it. He merely hops down from the trash can and dusts off his suit, though it does little to actually combat all the grime that seems to be soaked into the thing. Before you know it, he's right before you, offering a stained white hand to shake. "ALWAYS SO [[great prices]] TO MEET A [[fan signing]]!! TO WHOM DO I OWE THE [[ULTIMATE PLEASURE]] OF [[Allow me to introduce myself]]?"

A fan? ...Right.

You want to correct him, that you're not a fan, just someone who's heard the rumors of his existence, but you don't. You just stammer out your name, embarrassed by the stutter his startling quickness provokes in you. Even if none of the other rumors turned out to be true, it is certainly true that he is a little unsettling to be around regardless. You try to shake his hand while making as little contact with the appendage that was just digging through trash not a minute ago, but Spamton grips you with his firm salesmanly grip and gives your hand a vigorous shake.

He repeats your name in perfect mimicry of your own voice, "MY LOVELY NEW [[friend request accepted]], YOU COULDN'T'VE COME AT A BETTER TIME!! 'CAUSE HAVE I GOT [[a deal for you]]!!!" He starts patting at his pockets as though looking for some object or other and you take the lapse in his strange speech as an opportunity to cut him off, remembering the words of your boss and coworkers. Just in the off-chance any of the rumors are to be believed, you are not looking to make some scam purchase.

"H-hey, sorry, but I'm not--" He cuts YOU off before you can wriggle off the hook. Of course there would be no way he would let you go so easily.
"HOLD ON [[Buddy-buddy]]! DON'T GO SO SOON!! I GOTTA REAL [[QualityItem]] HERE I'M SURE YOU'LL BE [[$!$$]]ING YOURSELF TO GET YOUR [[grubby little fucking paws]] ON ONCE YOU SEE IT. JUST GIMME A MINUTE TO FIGURE OUT WHERE I [[stash.com]] IT AND I PROMISE IT'LL KNOCK YOUR FUCKING [[half-price nuts]] OFF!!"

You blink. The absolute mouth on this guy is nothing short of astonishing. Though he appears to be censoring himself at least half the time--whether intentionally or not, you cannot be sure--it's obvious with just a few seconds of extra thought what he means to say. You hardly know what to say when he's going on like that so you just let him talk until he starts rummaging in the trash again. With a little "AHA! FOUND YA YOU LITTLE [[cockadoodledoo]] SUCKER!" He withdraws from the trash again and produces a little round object with a flourish of his hand. He displays it to you like he's in on the goddamn QVC channel.

Spamton clears his throat and launches into his sales pitch, "NOW THIS, MY GOOD PAL, MY VERY SMART, DISCERNING LOOKING [[ValuedCustomer]], IS A RARE AND COVETED ITEM! AND I USED TO BE THE [[sole provider]] OF THESE BABIES TO THE QUEEN HERSELF! DON'T BELIEVE ME??" You kind of don't, but before there is even pause for you to say a word, he pulls a wrinkled old photo of himself with the queen out of his blazer pocket and thrusts it at you. In the photo he looks in a lot better shape than he does now, with a sharp red suit and shiny gold tie, but you don't have much time to look at the photo before he puts it back where it belongs. "YA SEE? I'M A REAL [[BIG SHOT]] AROUND HERE, SO YOU CAN [[believe me]] WHEN I SAY I AM GIVING YOU [[the deal of a lifetime]] BY OFFERING YOU THIS LITTLE [[sucker]] FOR [[the low low price]] OF 19.99!! WHADDAYA SAY??"

You just stare at him for a few moments. It's all you can do. You are just standing there, gears turning, trying desperately to unpack all the information he just thrust upon you before deciding to just throw out the whole suitcase.

You say, "What?"

"WHAT WHAT, DOLLFACE?" The salesman grins up at you and snaps his fingers as if struck by sudden inspiration, "OH! I KNOW! I KNOW! YOU NEED [[click here for more information]] BEFORE [[add item to cart]]. I UNDERSTAND! WELL LET ME TELL YOU! THE PIPIS IS A VERY--"

"H-h-hold on! Hold on just a minute!" You hold up your hands in front of you and wave them back and forth a bit to catch his attention and speak up. Clearly he would just keep on talking and talking and TALKING if you didn't. He seems like he's absolutely bursting at the seams to continue his sales pitch but he waits, mouth shut for the first time since you've met him, to hear you out. "I-I don't...I was just…" You were just...what? What WERE you doing? You weren't even supposed to be talking to this guy, but yet here you were getting your ear talked off while he tried to sell you this...egg?? Why had you stopped to talk to him again?

"You...you just...ate a bagel out of the trash." You blurt out, all tact sapped from your tone from the sheer absurdity of the situation.

The colorful pink and yellow light of Spamton's glasses flickers out like a dying lightbulb to turn to a monochrome hue, swirling with black and grey static. "YEAH??" He seems irritable that you'd even mention it, his white digits twitching with what you suppose must be barely restrained anger. Best to try and recover quickly from that one before he explodes or something.

You continue quickly, "I-I just thought, surely you're not doing that because you WANT to of course! So...maybe you'd...you know...like something that didn't come out of the dumpster! Here--" You open up your fast food bag for the carton of still-warm fries within and offer it to him. It's not like you would miss them. They would be cold by the time you got home and eating cold fries is like eating mealy tasteless sticks of cardboard. If the little guy is so hungry he's eating half eaten bagels out of the dumpster you're more than willing to give him something you aren't even going to eat anyway. Then you can feel satisfied that you've done your good deed for the day and be on your way back home with a funny story for your coworkers tomorrow.

"IT'S A DEAL!!!" Before you can even blink, the fry box is gone and in its place is that pipis thing he was trying to sell you. Does 20 of whatever the hell kromer is equate to the price of one side of medium fries or...No. He is just starving, you conclude. He is already hungrily devouring the fries, taking huge bites of those sticks of potato without even removing them from the box. In short order, they are all eaten, box and all. Those thick teeth chew right through the cardboard like it isn't even there. It's actually a little impressive. Then Spamton burps and laughs, sounding like a broken toy as his head swivels about and his teeth clack together with the force of his hearty laughter,

"THANKS FOR DOING BUSINESS WITH [[Spamton G Spamton]] DOLL!! WHAT A STEAL! YOU SURE ARE A [[GenerousCustomer]]. YOU GOT ANY OTHER WARES TO [[trade offer]] WITH ME?? I'M CURRENTLY ACCEPTING: ANYTHING." His glasses flicker with static for just a moment more on that last word before his colorful grinning facade is back. Spamton wrings his hands together anxiously and jitters about wildly, awaiting your answer. One of his segmented little hands grabs insistently at your sleeve as he flits around like an anxious hummingbird.

You try to choose your words as carefully as possible so as to extract yourself from this interaction, speaking slowly and deliberately, "Hmm...I don't think I have anything else of value to offer you tonight."

Not to be deterred so easily, Spamton's other hand pats you on the thigh, causing you to flinch and your face to turn an unflattering shade of pink in response. "DON'T [[sell yourself short]] ANGEL! I [[guarantee]] WE CAN FIGURE OUT [[a deal]] THAT WORKS FOR YOU!" His sickeningly sweet smile doesn't waver. You would be worried that he is trying to ingratiate himself to you so he can pat you down for things to steal, but his hands don't stray from where they're clinging to your clothes. Maybe he really is just that desperate.

The longer you talk to him the more you're starting to feel like you understand what's going on here. This man must be homeless. His desperation to get your money and willingness to eat anything he is offered make that clear enough. So while he is still unsettling you a bit, you're becoming less and less freaked out and more sad and disappointed in your coworkers for being so judgemental of someone so clearly in need of, like Spamton himself admitted, anything at all.

You huff, though your irritation is not meant for him. You offer him the burger in the bag as well, telling him. "Look. This is all I've got, but you're welcome to it if you want it."

To your surprise, Spamton grits his teeth and hisses, "WHAT DO I LOOK LIKE, SOME KINDA [[charity case]]??"

The obvious answer is yes, but you refrain as, after a quick double check to make sure no one else is looking, he takes the sandwich despite his visibly wounded pride. His hunger must outweigh that outside at the moment. You feel for him, really. This time, he unwraps it and actually takes the time to make individual bites instead of devouring it like a feral animal.

You frown. A thank you would be nice, but this is fine. You can make do with what you have at home. At most you will be inconvenienced for lack of your meal. He clearly needs it more than you do, whether he will admit that or not.

"Thanks for the...uh…." You look down at the strange blue egg in your hand.

"PIPIS." He replies between messy bites of his burger, leaving his discolored teeth all the more so for being smeared with ketchup.

"...Right. Thanks for the pipis." You pocket the thing and consider what to do next, hesitating to walk away as planned. Somehow you feel too responsible to just leave him here now. You take in his odd appearance as you watch him eat.

His hair is jet black and slicked back into a pompadour, lightly streaked with white at his slight widow's peak and wispy temples. In his fervor to shove the sandwich down his gullet his glasses have slipped down his prominent nose enough that you can see his shining dark eyes beneath those flashy lenses, and the dark circles and bags surrounding them. Light creases dimple the corners of his eyes, and his mouth too.

The whole effect makes him look a bit older than you expected him to be at first and you are acutely aware of how distinguished you would find such a man under better circumstances. Why if he cleaned up a bit, he might be just your type, if a bit lacking in the height department. You have never been one to complain about someone being a little rough around the edges though. You are no paragon of perfection yourself. Though you try your best to be as polite as you can and as kind to others as your means permit, you too have your darker side.

As Spamton continues to wolf that sandwich down, chomping at it with those oversized monster teeth, you notice they aren't quite all as square and uniform as you thought. A glint of gold sparkles on a premolar and the canines beside are sharp and his tongue, you find, is black and sinuous as he licks some errant mustard from his fingers in a way that makes that very dark side you know so well start to rear its ugly head. You flush again and hope that Spamton doesn't notice.

As an avid monster porn consumer, the reaction you have to long tongues and sharp teeth is pavlovian: he rings your bell and you drool regardless of whether or not he's just been in the garbage can. You hope this guy isn't the kind of addison, or addison-adjacent-puppet, that could pick up on your search history just by looking at you, was he? Wouldn't that be...humiliating? God damn it, you mentally kick yourself, don't start thinking lewd things about the weird little puppet monster. This is why your friends make fun of you. Your friends explicitly warned you about Spamton in particular, even! He's supposed to be dangerous, for crying out loud, and though you aren't exactly scared of a man you could probably punt if you tried hard enough, isn't that slight sense of danger just so thrilling? What is he capable of that makes them so scared beyond fearing for their wallets? You are just beginning to think that you would love to know….

Then suddenly Spamton is staring back at you.
His eyes crinkle into that signature Addison eyesmile as he grins and pats his now slightly distended and full tummy. "AHH...YOU'RE ONE [[swell pal]] YOU KNOW THAT, DOLLFACE?! THE MOST [[GenerousCustomer]] I'VE HAD IN A LONG WHILE IN FACT!!" He sidles up to you and seizes your sleeve again, snapping you out of those shameful thoughts you're trying to stuff down into the back of your mind. "CAN I [[car trouble?]] YOU WITH JUST ONE MORE TINY [[littol]] TEENSY [[itty bitty]] NOTHING OF A FAVOR FOR [[your old pal]] SPAMTON?"

Inwardly, you groan. You just know he's going to try to sell you something else, but with that insistent little hand gripping you, politeness compels you to hear him out. You cut him off at the pass with regard to whatever sales pitch he's cooking up though, "I'm REALLY not in the market to buy anything right now--"
He interrupts again, "OH NO NO NO! THIS ISN'T A [[sales]] FAVOR! I JUST THOUGHT THAT, SINCE WE'RE ALREADY SUCH [[great friends]] AND ALL, AND YOU'RE SUCH A [[Kind SOUL]], THAT YOU MIGHT BE WILLING TO [[help a fella out]] KEEP WARM ON A COLD COLD [[late night]] SUCH AS THIS??" He affects a shiver, rattling his teeth and rubbing his arms as though he's caught a sudden chill. It's so obvious, you can tell he's faking it to play on your sympathies, but... it really is a bit chilly tonight. He probably really would be cold if he planned on spending the night out here alone. You wonder where he sleeps at night, and with a pang of sympathy you realize it's probably this alleyway...in fact, judging by the stains on his previously white pants, he probably sleeps in the trash.

"Depends. What did you have in mind?" You ask, already knowing that you'll regret asking, but being entirely unable to stop yourself from doing so anyway.

That grin of his somehow stretches even further across his face, showing off all of his shiny black gums. He licks his teeth with that long black tongue of his to clear away a bit of lettuce sticking between them, an action that can't help but draw your eye and make your traitorous face burn once more.

Surely he wasn't so depraved as to ask you...that. Surely not. But of course you're thinking about it. No! No! He might be some kind of desperate con artist but he isn't a depraved horny freak like you who is just waiting for the perfect opportunity to show your true colors and whore yourself out, you remind yourself. What, are you hoping that he asks?? You chastise yourself, but even the self flagellation feeds into your fantasies. God damn it.

"THAT SCARF LOOKS [[warm fuzzy feeling]]" He says, stopping your train of thought dead in its tracks.

"Oh!" You say, with more surprise in your voice than intended. Your face heats up with shame. Of course. Your scarf.

Spamton blinks his eyes asynchronously at you and laughs, his head wagging all around like a bobblehead. You try to get your mind out of the gutter as you make haste to unwind your scarf and move to drape it over the back of his neck, but like clockwork he has to open up that big mouth of his and say,
"AHHEHEHAHA! TRY NOT TO LOOK SO [[1 star review]], TOOTS! WHAT DID YOU THINK I WAS GONNA SAY??"

You don't answer, your face turning what you imagine is an unflattering shade of crimson to match the searing heat you feel in your cheeks. Curse your proclivities. It's so fucking embarrassing, you can't even meet his eyes. You crouch to loop the scarf around his neck and wrap it up, doing your best to ignore the way your face is burning. At this distance you can smell the nicotine on his breath and the cheap cologne that's mixing with the smell of his dirty clothes, hardly disguising the odor. It isn't altogether too bad, you suppose. Under different conditions you might catch yourself trying not to inhale his scent even more… Wait, you're not doing so already are you?? Fuck, he's noticed that too.

Spamton is watching you as though he is a hawk and you are the fattest juiciest field mouse he's ever laid those dark little bedroom eyes on.
"...HEYYY, [[I'm sorry]] DOLLFACE. I'M JUST TEASING~ BUT...YOU KNOW…IF YOU'RE [[all alone on a late night?]], AND FEELING LONELY…" Spamton's voice samples come out at a more hushed volume than their usual, crackling in your ears with static as he leans in much too close for comfort. "I THINK I KNOW A FEW [[lonely hearts]][[in your area]]." He grins, giving a lascivious waggle of his brows and even a little flick of the tongue that demands you wonder just what he could do with it. Your eyes widen.
"... IN FACT, I KNOW I COULD [[make it worth your while]]~", He tacks on, and you feel his small hand rubbing over your thigh again.

Oh. So he is that shameless. And as for you...you wish you had the nerve to be just as shameless yourself. You've always had the most lustful and depraved thoughts about being propositioned by strangers and just going to town with them wherever they'd have you, but kept those thoughts locked away in the parts of your mind you're too polite and shy to acknowledge except in those moments of need, late at night, rubbing one out to your sick little fantasies, never to live them out or make your friends all concerned for you again. This little weasel couldn't know that about you, could he--Smell the blood in the water, so to speak? He couldn't know just how much you've always wanted someone so utterly depraved to ruin and humiliate you. Could he??

You can hardly believe yourself. You already gave Spamton your dinner and your warm winter scarf and you're still somehow entertaining him. After he just propositioned you for sex no less. How low could you get?

You hesitantly ask, "Oh yeah? How?", thinking you're just humoring him, but knowing deep down that this is exactly what you want.

Spamton's eyes go wide and he vibrates in place, like he can hardly believe his good fortune. He sputters out a few unintelligible beeping noises that you hate to admit are kind of cute. For once he seems to be at a loss for words, but then he opens that dirty, dirty mouth of his and the sweet filth you've been dying for pours out, if a little more bitcrushed and littered with voice samples than you ever expected,
"SUGARTITS, YOUR [[free trial]] OF SPAMTON G SPAMTON WILL MAKE YOU [[cum in 30 seconds when you play this game]] SO HARD IT'LL BLOW THOSE FAT [[€¥¢£]]ING TITS CLEAN OFF!! [[and if you order now]] I'LL LEAVE YOU SO [[Splorch.sfx]] THIS ALLEY'LL NEEDA FUCKIN [[Caution: Wet Floor]] WHAT THE H3LL, I'LL TELL YOU WHAT: IF YOU [[go all the way]] WITH ME I'LL [[sweeten the deal]] AND FUCK YOU [[so good]] YOU WON'T EVEN BE ABLE TO [[walk right in]] TOMORROW!!! HOW'S THAT SOUND?? I PROMISE I'VE GOT ENOUGH SLIME [[in the tank]] TO FILL EVERY SWEET W3T [[hole]] IN THAT [[luscious]] BODY AND MORE."

A hush falls over the alleyway as you stare at him, agog. You can't help but mutter in awe. "My god… The mouth on you...."

He doesn't even argue or have the common decency to blush or be embarrassed. He actually laughs again with that demented grin of his.
"HEHEHEHE! MY MOUTH HUH? YOU [[like and subscribe]] MY MOUTH?" His jaw unhinges and he lets that black organ uncurl from between his teeth and swirl lasciviously over every nicotine stained and golden capped tooth. "YOUR [[Search History: monster/human, monster dick, name of embarrassment kink?, teeth, pornhub public sex]] DOESN'T [[lie]], BABY. YOU LIKE THE SOUND OF THAT. YOU WANNA [[take the deal]]. I KNOW [[you want it]], DON'T YOU?"

He squeezes your thigh, digging in a bit with his hard little fingers. "DON'T YOU??"

Little bastard, little filthy bastard. He did know your search history. But he's right. You have to know what it's like. You just have to.

You grab the scarf and pull him in for a kiss on those constantly bared nicotine-and-who-knows-what-else-stained teeth of his, earning another of those little mechanical beeping noises and a throaty chuckle before his tongue is already snaking its way out of his mouth to flick over your lips and wet them with his spit. It's warm, slimy, and it tingles on your lips like the soft crackling of TV static. You gasp at the sensation and he takes advantage of this by grabbing onto the back of your neck, tilting his head to the side, and thrusting his tongue deep into your mouth to coat your own in a thick layer of his saliva.

You groan at the feeling. You can feel it probing and wriggling around, filling your mouth as it pushes deeper inside. You lick it and it wraps around your own tongue, saturating your mouth with the taste of him. He tastes so strange and you suppose, almost good, but in a way that leaves you desiring something more, like candy someone left in their pocket too long.

You let him continue to kiss you anyway, fully surrendering control to the little salesman as he dominates your mouth with that sickly delightful tongue. You moan softly around the girth of it and the hand that was on your thigh cuts right to the chase, just like it's owner, shooting down your waistband to palm at your underwear.

There is no hiding how wet you are, and you can't stand that it's all for him. You feel your heart pounding in your chest and a shameful sweat beading on your brow at the idea of your boss or coworkers catching you with Spamton's hand down your pants. Even if it was a stranger you think you'd have to just die right then and there of shame, but as it is, with no one else around, in the dimly lit alleyway, blocked off from view by the trash surrounding you, that burning shame only serves to make it feel all the more delicious as you swallow down that black licorice tongue. God, you want it. You want him to--

His tongue retreats, sliding back into his waiting mouth like a retractable measuring tape, making a slick wet-glue schlicking noise as it goes. You gasp for air after, hating the needy moans that line your breaths.

"MMMM, THAT'S ONE [[A1]] THROAT YOU'VE GOT. WANNA [[put her to good use]] ON ME?" He strokes over your bud encouragingly, making you whimper, "OR DOES MY SPECIL CUSTOMER WANT [[my money and I need it NOW!]]??"
Knelt down as you are, at eye level with him, he's still just a touch smaller than you, but those encouraging yet taunting words make him feel larger than life. He really knows just how to get you all worked up, and by the shit eating eye narrowing grin of his, you can tell he's realized that too.

You hardly know which sounds like the better option. Let him rut you like some back alley slut, which you supposed you would truly be by the end of this, and get it over with, or blow him and get to feel that wonderful slimy tongue lapping at your nethers?

You pant out, "L-Let me see what you're working with and then I'll decide."

He nods and starts pulling at his belt right away, "SURE THING, [[Hot Lips]]. SEEMS LIKE A [[fair trade]] TO SHOW YOU [[the goods]] FOR A KISS LIKE THAT~"
You watch, eyes glued to his crotch as he unzips, revealing a pale slit, tinted a black plum color toward the inside, and from that slit, an ink black tentacle starts to quickly unfurl. As dark and slimy as his tongue and similar in shape, but corded with a musculature that made the prehensile thing squirm, giving it a texture that looked like it would feel oh so good buried inside of you. A bead of precum oozes from the tip and drips down onto the ground as it continues to leak with fluid.

Your breathing becomes unsteady just watching it drip like that. You can already smell it from where you are. That powerful masculine scent of a virile monster, one who you note to yourself likely hasn't showered in who even knows how long. Just a whiff and you've already made up your mind.

You have to get down on all fours to meet his crotch, but you do so eagerly, pressing your lips to his slit and lapping up that steadily dribbling fluid, suckling the emerging tentacle and seeing just how much of it will slip into your waiting mouth while you gather his taste on your tongue. It's so much stronger than his mouth, and a bit different. You can taste that tang of sweat and an intense bitterness and biting acidity on your tongue that you place as oddly similar to that of a grapefruit. His cock tangles with your tongue and he places both of his hands on your head, petting your hair and stroking your cheek in a way that makes you shiver as he looks down at you with those dark eyes.

"NNH, THAT'S IT….I KNEW YOU'D MAKE [[the right choice]]~" He winks down at you.

Did you make the right choice? Is this what he wanted most too? Why does that thought fill you with so much pleasure?

You close your eyes and focus on the task at hand, feeling oddly like you're making out with his crotch as he pushes his lower lips against yours and his cock pushes deeper into your mouth. The suction from your lips draws him out further, filling your mouth even more. It moves in circular motions, rolling over and over your tongue, drooling so much of that slimy, staticky precum into your mouth in the process that you have to start swallowing lest it spill from your lips and stain your shirt. And as your throat flexes to swallow it down, the tapered tip of his dick gives chase, following it down into your throat. Your eyes shoot open and you muffle a shocked noise up at him.

Spamton's hands make tight little fists in your hair. "DON'T [[cancel]] NOW, SWEET CHEEKS. THAT'S NOT EVEN [[half-off]] OF IT YET~" His grin is downright predatory.

Not even half?? You huff through your nose as a few more inches uncoil from Spamton's loins, spreading his slit wide enough that they no longer even resemble the lips you were kissing before. And as those inches slide out, the tip too slides down, further into your throat, tickling your tonsils and esophageal lining. You can feel his ooze coating every inch of your mouth and throat with that pleasant static, but at least you no longer have to work to swallow it with Spamton sheathed so far in your throat. It just drips down to your belly, which feels like it's on fire. The effects of that buzzing fluid, or merely your own wanton lust, you wonder? Maybe it's both; it doesn't matter which.

His dick just keeps growing, lengthening and thickening the closer it gets to the base until eventually, Spamton lets out a shuddering grunt and grinds his hips against your face.
"[[Now! That's what I call]] A GOOD CUSTOMER… YOU SURE GOT TALENT, TAKING EVERY LAST INCH LIKE [[big name porn star]]. NO GAGGING, NO MESS, [[no hassle]]. YOU'RE MADE FOR THIS, AREN'T YA?" He hisses and grinds his hips against your face a second time, making the whole length of his tentadick wriggle in one fluid, snake-like motion from tip to base. You feel it, deep inside, curling where nothing but food has ever gone, completely filling your mouth and throat in a way you didn't think could be done. How in all of dark world could he be so huge?? Your jaw is stretched to it's limit around the base of him, but Spamton doesn't seem to mind it in the slightest. His dick is doing most of the work for him now, wriggling and thrashing around inside of you as your throat fights to keep up.

You hadn't gagged yet, but at this rate you feel almost certain you're going to with the way that thing keeps moving in there. You turn your eyes up toward the salesman and whimper pleadingly, hoping he understands.

"MMNH, WHAT'S THAT [[ValuedCustomer]]? PICK UP THE PACE, [[put the pedal to the metal]]? NO CAN DO, [[sweet hearts Valentine’s candy]]. I DON'T GET [[treat yourself]] TO A THROATPUSSY LIKE THIS OFTEN ENOUGH NOT TO [[enjoy]]...EVERY...LAST...SECOND…."

Your eyes roll back in your head as his cock pistons back and forth, cutting off your air flow in any place where its wriggling serpentine curves strain against your windpipe from the other side, making you practically suffocate on that slimy thing. You sputter as you try to keep breathing through your nose and find it dribbling down out of your nostrils in the process, earning you a pleased "FUCK YEAH…" from Spamton that makes your own soaked loins throb. He is gripping your hair and using your face like his own personal fucktoy. He is getting off on the powertrip of doing so.

And you are getting off on the fact he's enjoying it so much. You wonder what your boss would think if he saw you now, kneeling before this filthy conman he warned you about and throating his cock. With the limited oxygen to your brain and the pulsing horniness between your legs you don't think you could conceivably care less if he did find you like this. Just the thought of it makes your knees all wobbly with giddiness…and a bit of oxygen deprivation.

Spamton notices your sudden instability and gently cups the side of your face with one hand for just a moment. "THERE THERE, I KNOW IT'S A [[tough pill to swallow]], BUT IF YOU [[stay on the line]] LONG ENOUGH FOR ME TO BLOW MY LOAD DOWN THAT SWEET THROAT OF YOURS [[your old pal]] SPAMTON'LL GIVE YOU A NIIIICE LITTLE [[your money back]] FOR YOUR TROUBLE~"

His own breathing has become labored, his tongue dangling freely over his teeth as he humps your face with fervor now. He's drooling just watching his own thirteen inch monster recoil and disappear over and over again down that tight tunnel. At the hazy look you give him. Your lips don't let up their suction for even a second as his thrusts become erratic, speeding toward his climax.

"THAT'S IT! [[that’s the ticket]]! FUCK! YOU LITTLE [[whore]], TAKE IT TAKE IT TAKE IT TAKE IT--" He chants over and over again until his voice fizzles out into a staticky cacophony of metallic screeches and dialup noises.

The load he's been saving up for who even knows how long is finally ready to be unloaded and his tip is pointed straight down toward your waiting belly. You don't even get to taste it yet. It's just flooding your stomach as each powerful spurt sends a jet of thick stickiness into your gullet. At least you don't have to feel quite so bad about giving him your lunch anymore. When he finally pulls back enough for that serpentine cock to come slithering out of you and paint your face with one last insultingly audible splurt of cum, you can't help but hoarsely comment, "Fucking...hell...thanks...for the meal...I guess…" between your ragged breaths.

Spamton laughs his ass off at this. Even as you sit up on your knees and examine the mess he's made of the front of you despite your best efforts and swipe that cumrope off your face and lick your fingers clean he is still laughing. His cum, as it turns out, is even stronger tasting than the lubricant. Thick and slimy, with an intense musky odor. Your face is clean now, but hot with humiliation at his laughter.

He wipes his eyes as his laughing spell dies down and comments, "OHH MAN. YOU'RE THE TYPE TO [[thank you, thank you]] A GUY AFTER $UCKING HIM OFF LIKE THAT? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE, ANGEL?" He ducks in close to leave a hot trail of saliva up your cheek.

You grab onto his lapel and lightly butt heads with him, muttering, "Shut up...you know what I meant. You just made me swallow, like, a pint of cum."

He doesn't even flinch. If anything it hurts you more than it hurts him, the little shit. He gives another little giggle and starts licking further down, tracing wet shapes over your neck and abused throat. He coos, "AWWW, YOU'RE SOOO FUCKING WELCOME FOR IT, BABY…."

You shudder and groan. His breath is hot on your neck and making little puffs of steam in the air of this cold dark alley. The toe of his white shoe presses against your crotch, earning him another moan, at which the motormouth continues, "YOU'RE ALL WOUND UP TIGHT FOR ME, AREN'T YA~?"

The taunting lilt in his voice makes you squirm and his teeth seize a bit of your neck to make you give an embarrassingly loud squeal that you pray no one is out this late to hear. This time, he does growl, low and rumbling, teasing the lobe of your ear with his pointed nose even as he bites your neck, "READY TO [[click here to claim your reward!]] BEFORE WE GET TO THE REALLY [[fun, fun, fun]] STUFF??"

"What reward?"

"HEHE, YOU [[silly goose]]! I DIDN'T RATTLE YOUR BRAINS AROUND WHILE I WAS IN THERE DID I? DIDN'T I TELL YOU I'D [[reward]] YOU FOR DRINKING DOWN THAT BIG FAT LOAD I [[cooked up]] FOR YOU? SPAMTON G SPAMTON IS NO LIAR, BABE!" He pulls away from you and fishes around in his back pocket for something. He holds out his hand, and offers you your own fucking car keys. Your eyes widen and you snatch them back from him, hastily tucking them back into your bag.

"When did you--"

"AHHEHEHAHA!!! DOES IT REALLY MATTER?? YOU GOT EM [[money back guaranteed]] DIDN'T YOU?"

Your eyes narrow at him with distaste and he smirks back like the cat that caught the canary.
"What else did you take, Spamton?"

"IS THAT HOW YOU TALK TO ALL YOUR PALS? [[jeeze louise]], NO WONDER YOU GOTTA RESORT TO [[dumpster diving]] TO GET YOUR ROCKS OFF!"

"Spamton. Please. Just tell me if you took anything else from me."

He hums long and thoughtfully, like he's really taking time to weigh the pros and cons of telling you the truth, rocking back and forth on his heels, his only barely retracted black tentacle flopping shamelessly about as he toys with you.

"HMMMMMM--FINE. HERE." He reaches into his other back pocket and hands over your wallet. You summarily snatch that back from him too and open it up to make sure your ID and every last red cent of your hard earned money is still inside before stuffing it, too, back into your bag.

You're beginning to understand what all the addisons meant all of a sudden.

"I KNOW, I KNOW, [[u mad?]] AT ME. BUT I'M LIVING IN A GOD DAMN GARBAGE CAN OUT HERE. YOU CAN'T FAULT A [[DESPERATE]] BUSINESS MAN FOR TRYING!!"

"Well if you're that desperate then maybe you ought to be nicer to me." You give him a withering stare that he just shrugs off and shoots back,

"[[Raw Honey $24.99]], WHO DO YOU THINK YOU'RE FOOLING? IT'S A SALESMAN'S JOB TO [[market predictions]] YOUR EVERY WANT, AND YOU CLEARLY DON'T WANT [[nice]]."

He takes your bag before you can even make a move to stop him, infuriating you with his quick and clever little hands. How is he so damn good at stealing things, you wonder? That is a cross-body bag; he shouldn't even be able to! His grinning face betrays no answer, but he mercifully places the bag down beside you. This time he just wants it out of his way. He continues, "IF YOU WANTED NICE, YOU WOULDN'T BE HERE WITH [[Spamton G Spamton]]."

It's his turn now to grab you by your own shirt front and lean in close, locking you in with his hypnotic mismatched eyes. "IF YOU WANTED NICE YOU'D GO COURTING SOME BOUGIE ADDISON OR CHIVALROUS SWATCHLING. BUT INSTEAD, YOU'RE HERE. IN A DARK ALLEY. GETTING [[down]][[down]][[down]] ON YOUR HANDS AND KNEES TO [[deepthroat compilation]] SOME DIRTY STRANGER'S COCK. NO, NO. YOU DON'T WANT NICE…" he hisses, using his other hand to wrench your head back by the hair, exposing your neck to him so he can assault it with his tongue and teeth again, continuing his relentless onslaught of dirty talk despite his mouth busying itself to mark you up good and proper, "YOU WANT IT [[rough and uncensored]]. YOU WANNA BE DEGRADED, [[used]], AND TREATED LIKE GARBAGE. OR YOU WOULDN'T STILL BE SO WET FOR ME AFTER EVERYTHING I'VE SAID AND DONE."

He palms over your chest, squeezing and kneading at your clothed flesh. "I DON'T EVEN HAVE TO [[look, don’t touch]] YOU DOWN THERE TO KNOW I'M [[correct]]. THE WAY YOU ACT SPEAKS FUCKING VOLUMES. NOW...YOU STILL WANT ME...DON'T YOU BABY~?" Spamton finishes with a coo so uncharacteristically soft for how roughly he was just handling you. He releases your hair to cup your face so tenderly and his thumb slowly strokes over your cheek in a way that's almost loving. You search his eyes for a crack in his sudden saccharine facade and are surprised to find his eyes gentle and apologetic behind his glasses, like he's scared he's gone too far and blown it.

God. Fucking damn it. Why does he have to look so soft and vulnerable right now?

For as mean as it might be of him to say, for as rough as he's being with you, he's still right. Being eyed up like a piece of meat and groped with those greedy, grasping hands has you forgetting all about his little pickpocket act. And he's not fooling you either. He's just as lonely as you and desperate to hold onto you now that you've shown him just how good you can be. You just gave him the best and only head he's had in years probably.
As long as he keeps his hands out of your bag and on your body, you're oddly happy to let him do as he likes. It just feels too good, too easy to let him take what he wants from you. You take a deep breath, and you nod.

His perpetual smile seems relieved this time. "THAT'S MY [[FavoriteCustomer]]!"

"Yeah, yeah…" You turn your gaze away from him, blustering out some excuse to let him continue while saving as much face as possible. "Of course I still need to cum. Just...don't take my stuff anymore, please. You don't have to extort me to get what you want."

Spamton, for the first time, seems embarrassed by his behavior. His eyes slide off you for a second and he clears his throat.

"HM. WELL. IF YOU SAY SO. OLD HABITS [[Die Hard on DVD]], BUT YOUR OLD PAL SPAMTON MIGHT GET USED TO SUCH [[five star]] TREATMENT IF YOU'RE TOO GENEROUS TO HIM, YOU KNOW? JUST LOOK AT WHAT YOU DO TO ME…."

You can see it clearly. His tentadick is out about halfway again, the tip rising up as though searching for a place to bury itself. And you know just where you want him to put it.

You heave a sigh, "Come on, Spamton…" You hook your thumbs into the top of your pants and start shimmying out of them, together with your underwear, until you're kneeling in a puddle of your own clothes. Your wet needy sex is fully on display for Spamton and you can feel the cold night air blowing over the sensitive flesh there, making you shiver. "Please just fuck me already."

His cock twitches sharply at this and he rumbles deep in his chest, "OHHH, SAY IT AGAIN, FREAKY MAMA…."

Nerves frayed and at the end of your wits, your voice cracks as you don't even hesitate to beg, "Spamton, please fuck me."

The words have scarcely left your lips before you find yourself belly up on a pile of trash bags that had been haphazardly piled behind the two of you. You let out a disgusted "Eugh," that quickly morphs into a high pitched moan of pleasure as Spamton leaps on you like a heat crazed vole and drives home his dripping spike as deep as it will go at a shot.

This, it turns out, is a lot deeper than you thought it would be. Between the combination of your slickness and his own cockslime, Spamton is able to seamlessly drive his dick in all the way to the back of your pussy in one fell swoop. But though you can feel his tip licking your cervix you know he's far from finished. You want to ask him to wait, to tell him you'd rather fuck on the cold hard ground than on this forgivingly soft but squelching and stinking pile of trash, but all such protests die on your tongue as he starts thrusting his hips into your own.

Thanks to his small size, he fits so perfectly between your thighs when he spreads you out and his half-emergent tentacle is just the right length to curl teasingly over your sweet spot as it worms around inside of you. You find yourself gasping and clutching the plastic bags beneath you, clenching your eyes shut to avoid thinking about the filth he's fucking you into as you whimper for him, "Aah--fuck, why are you so fucking big~"

Something about your phrasing causes that prehensile organ to thrash about sharply again, only this time it's inside of you, painting an impression of its pleasure on the inner walls of your pussy.

"DIDN'T I TELL YOU I'M A [[BIG SHOT]] BABY?? DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT, MY [[little sponge]]. JUST. LAY BACK. AND. FUCKING. TAKE. ME." He grunts, already looking so much more out of control and disheveled than when he was fucking your throat. Greasy black and white wisps of hair cling to his forehead as he thrusts into you. You can feel his tendril coiling up on itself and writhing between the two of you as the thicker part struggles to fit inside. It gives your entrance a lovely searing stretch and mashes up against your swollen clit from Spamton's fervent thrusts to try and force more inside. You sink your teeth into your lip to stifle the loudness of your moans, lest anyone overhear and think you were being murdered or worse, come to investigate the noises.

Spamton notices this and wraps his arms around your thighs, using an amount of strength you didn't know the little puppet possessed to push you back further into the trash pile until you're no longer prone, sitting up, ass in the trash. One of his hands seizes your face, fingers squeezing your cheek and tugging at your lower lip until he parts your lips. "DON'T YOU TRY AND HIDE THOSE SLUTTY MOANS FROM ME…I WANT TO HEAR YOU [[Scream 1996]] FOR ME." He gives a wanton groan of his own as he drags his tentadick back and forth over the topmost walls of your slick and aching tunnel in a repetitive come-hither motion that you can't help but respond to with a shuddering, loud moan. Your voice, despite the overwhelming pleasure, is lined with revulsion. Spamton’s hand is wet and sticky with some unknown substance as it grips your face. You don't know if it's some combination of your fluids or some garbage fluid from the bags he's fucking you against, but you aren't about to protest now. You don't want him to stop, no matter what.

Your legs wrap around him and cross over his back, locking him in place. Spamton's thumb creeps between your lips and he holds your mouth open, making you unable to hold back any noise as you clench tightly and throb with need around the thickest part of his cock. Somehow he's managed to weasel that entire leviathan tendril inside of you such that your entire sex is stuffed with its constantly shifting mass. It twists and bulges against different places inside you in the most unpredictable ways, driving you crazy with the way it hits against pleasureful bundles of nerves you didn’t even know you had inside of you and makes you moan out like a shameless whore.

You shift your weight to keep up with Spamton's thrusts and feel something in the bag beneath you burst under your hand. "God have mercy...this is so fucking gross…" you whimper.

"[[404 error]] GOD'S MERCY NOT FOUND. YOU [[Lovin’ It]] TOO MUCH TO DESERVE MY MERCY~"

"Wh-wha--nnngh~ You're… C-Comparing yourself to God??" You weren’t expecting this level of egotism at all from someone who you caught scrounging for food in the trash, but you cant even begin to disguise that whimper of pleasure even while utterly exasperated with his antics.

"WELL I MIGHT AS WELL BE YOUR [[god]], HUH? YOU'LL JUST LAY THERE AND LET ME DO [[whatever makes you happy]] WON'T YOU?" Spamton quips back, grinning maliciously at you with a hungry wolf grin. He dives in to rip at your shirt buttons with his teeth, nipping them all off one by one as easily as if his teeth were shears, exposing your chest and belly as he destroys your button-down.

"Spamton!! that was my fucking work shirt!" You protest, but your skin is so heated from that little declaration of his supposed godliness you honestly care less than you sound like you do.

"OH, BUY A NEW ONE [[on me]]--I'LL GIVE YOU [[all I’ve got]] LEFT FOR IT IF I HAVE TO--JUST LET ME AT THESE~" He replies in a frenzied whisper, puffing out hot steamy clouds against your breasts before taking one hard bud between his teeth and lightly pinching it between them. His hands follow suit to knead expertly at your mounds with those dextrous little hard plastic fingers, making you putty in his hands. Those dark eyes smolder up at you, and you can't take it.

"Yes...do as you like… Oh god, oh Spamton, please~" You bring the hand that isn't wrist deep in the trash bags up to his back and clutch at the fabric of his blazer. The other hand you can't even move. You don't even want to think about it. It's so fucking disgusting that you're shivering with revulsion every second you aren't moaning out for your freakish little puppet sex god.

And he laughs at you.

He pinches and twists your nipples, just to see how you'll react and when you just moan out louder and beg for more, he laughs even harder. The way his slightly pudgy belly shakes against you when he laughs is so hot.

You fucking hate this man. You love him. You moan out again for him as he rolls his plushy hips over yours, persistently grinding his slippery dick against your sweet spot until your thighs involuntarily quiver.

"Oh FUCK!! Yes, right there! Spamton, I'm so close…", you wail out in warning, and just like that, he stops moving entirely, still hilted inside of you, just torturing you with that delicious stretching, throbbing sensation.

You whine at being denied your release, as he leaves you hanging right on the edge. "Why...why did you stop??"

"BEG ME."

"PLEASE~"

"PLEASE. WHAT."

"Please let me cummm~"

"WHO DO YOU WANT. TO MAKE YOU [[cum in under 30 seconds]]."

"Spamton, Spamton!! Please let me cum! Y-you're so good–I'm so close–please, please, I need you~ Spamtonnn~"

Steam shoots out of his mouth and his fingers dig in hard enough to bruise. His thrusts start up again like he hadn't even stopped, mechanically slamming himself into you at a blistering pace. If anyone happened to be walking these dark roads at this time of night, you're sure they would be able to hear the wet slapping of your thighs, even over the sound of you shamelessly keening for Spamton G Spamton by name. Ensuring that all the good folks who live here know exactly what kind of scum you're receiving.

He focuses relentlessly on the little button inside of you that's twisting that coil in your belly tighter and tighter, thrashing it over and over with his skilled prehensile appendage until that unsatisfied dark something inside of you pops into a burst of fireworks before your eyes. Your head rolls back and your thighs quiver. You let go. Spamton draws a shuddering orgasm out of you, grinning manically down at you and babbling his ad-infested praises as he keeps fucking you all throughout your orgasm, not slowing those desperate hips for one second as he chases his own release. His stamina so far has impressed you, but judging by the beads of staticky sweat rolling down his plasticy face, his slack jaw, and lolling, drooling tongue, Spamton is close to reaching his limit.

You hold onto him with both arms, both legs locking tightly around his small body. Both so that you can get as close to his tainted body as possible, and so that he has no chance of just rolling off you and escaping once he's finished with you. With his head buried in your breasts, he whips himself up into a frenzy, muffling broken moans and advertisement clips, as well as even stranger noises you couldn't even hazard a guess what to name them.

"H-Hurry up and cum already..." you whine, groaning as he fucks you into overstimulated bliss. "Please…!"

A sudden discomfort somewhere deep inside of you stops you from saying another word. The feeling edges on painful, but while you're so flooded with endorphins, most of the pain is quickly forgotten about.

Spamton's entire body is twitching against you, his eyes rolled back and his long tongue uncoiled over your chest. "C-C-CUM-CUM-CUMM-MIIIII1IINGg~"

That discomfort intensifies sharply for a moment as Spamton's wriggling member suddenly plunges it's tapered tip against the entrance of your womb. Heat floods your belly at the realization, but there's no possible way you could stop him, even if you wanted to. And you don't. That spreading warmth feels amazing. You can feel his seed filling your womb, making it feel swollen and heavy in your abdomen. You take a shaky breath. You could have sworn he didn't cum this much before…

Now that both of you are swollen, him with food, and you with...you groan, just holding him and stroking idly through his greasy hair as you lay back in the trash...None of it matters to you anymore. Not even the gushing you feel spurting from between your legs as his spasming dick begins to soften and drift back inside of him. He almost feels inanimate as you hold him like this. His eyelights have gone off, and his jaw is completely slack.

If you wanted to, you could just roll him off you, and into the trash. You could get up and walk away and pretend none of this ever happened tomorrow.

But what about Spamton?

The chilly night air blows down the alleyway, leaving you feeling more exposed than you realized you were in the heat of the moment.

He stirs, blearily.

"You okay?"

"Hnnbhnhgh…." Pink and yellow hearts flash back and forth across the lenses of his glasses, giving you the only answer you need. He weighs heavily on your stomach, and feeling as bloated as you now do, it's beginning to become uncomfortable.

"Come on, Spamton…can you get up?"

He only gives another weak groan, and gives your chest a long swipe of his excessively drooling tongue. "NUH UH…GIMME THE [[check please]] IN THE MORNING, TOOTS…."

"...What if I said I had a deal to offer you?"

Now that gets his attention. His head snaps up to look at you with intent eyes.

"How about I take you back to my place? My only conditions are that you don’t steal anything."

"I CAN'T AFFORD [[room and board]]."

"So? I think you've paid for a week or so's worth of my gratitude for...well…"

"THE [[hot online sex game]][[monster mating press VR perspective]]??"

"... Yeah."

“YOU SURE YOU WANT ME IN YOUR [[home sweet home]]? YOU THAT MUCH OF A [[good samaritan]], OR AM I JUST THAT GOOD OF A [[#$@#]], HUH?”

“I just…I just want to.” You say, looking away, but gripping his hand tighter. You can’t explain it. In a way, it’s a little of both, and neither.

You just want to.

"HEH….IT'S A DEAL!!!" Spamton exclaims, suddenly full of his usual vigor. He leaps to his feet, which isn't particularly far at his size, and starts spooling his ludicrously long dick back into his pants.

Now fully unplugged and unburdened, you look down at your stomach to see if it's grown at all from how much cum the puppet monster just pumped into you and sooth a hand over your stomach, pushing out a large quantity of thick black slime. You blush anew at the feeling of sliminess, the suddenly overwhelming odor of sex mingling with the trash, and the feeling of soreness that you're beginning to notice now that all those endorphins are wearing off. After pushing out as much of Spamton's slime as you can, flushing deeply while he lights a cigarette and watches you, not letting a single aching embarrassing second escape his notice.

You use some tissues from your bag to clean yourself up a little, but there's no helping the fact you'll be walking home with your pants plastered to your thighs.

Once you're as cleaned up as you possibly can be, with your jacket hood pulled down over your face, you stand and look down at the puppet. You hold out your hand for him, and he gives you a cheeky grin and takes a long drag on his cigarette while he takes in your wrecked appearance. He reaches up, appearing to be reaching for your hand at first, but his hand slides up to grope your ass.

"YOU SURE ARE A [[Freak on a Leash.mp3]], BUT I’M NOT COMPLAINING. NOT. COMPLAINING. AT. ALL. GO ON. WALK BACK TO [[you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here]]. I’LL BE RIGHT BEHIND YOU."

You nod, assuming he’s trying to spare you being seen with him, something you are not sure you would actually mind in your post coitus haze, but your frazzled brain can hardly take the short walk back to your place in your cummy pants and the ripped shirt that you have to hide beneath your jacket.

You pray no one stops to ask you if you’re alright. People would definitely ask questions if they saw you walking with the perpetrator. You quickly scoop up your things and vacate the alleyway, wondering how Spamton intends to follow. Now, even as you look back toward the alleyway, you can’t see him. You shrug though, and hurry your way down the few streets it takes to get home, keeping your eyes turned away from any passers by.

When you reach your home you take your keys out of your bag and as you go to stick them in the lock, you catch the smell of smoke on the air and suddenly Spamton clips through the ground beside you.

"That's a convenient trick…" you comment, "Is that how you're so good at stealing things?"

He smiles and tosses his spent cigarette to the ground, grinding it beneath his heel. “[[trade secrets]] BABE. MAYBE I’LL [[click here to learn more]] IF YOU GIMME SOMETHING GOOD IN [[trade offer:]]~ GONNA LET ME IN?”

You chuckle a bit before unlocking and opening the door wide to welcome the shady little salesman into your home without a moment's hesitation.

You’ll probably regret this later, you think, but right now there is nothing you would rather do.